


Jolted

by lesbomancy



Category: Shadowrun
Genre: Cyberpunk, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbomancy/pseuds/lesbomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of my Shadowrun OCs getting reactivated after a realllly long hiatus of writing and play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jolted

> **KOR Memorial Hospital**
> 
> **Warsaw-Lodz sprawl, Poland**
> 
> **February 18th, 2075**

_Dreaming_ , she thought. _Why wasn’t I dreaming?_

Thinking was.. hard. A slow motion, almost unpracticed. She find herself incapable of moving or speaking. The growing pit of anxiety in her gut rose higher as she struggled, an awful fluorescent lighting stinging her eyes through the lids as they fluttered open and closed repeatedly and she struggled to scream. Even if she couldn’t move - maybe she’d be able to thrash long enough to get **something** to happen.

_I can’t move. I can’t move. I’m dead, am I dead?_

All the noises in the world broke through her eardrums like a bus full of screaming children into a meeting for disabled veterans, causing her to shriek wildly in an inhuman manner. Electronic equipment, footsteps, chatting, explosions, wheels turning and doors closing and opening. She could barely make out the languages being spoken through the chaos as she groaned and her shoulders twitched, her desire to slam her hands over her pointed ears larger than ever.

Small hands touched her body - she was clothed, at least in something thin and breathable; paper-like. A voice coming from where the face that those tiny hands belonged to babbled on until she could understand the language - Polish, a feminine inflection. Probably a woman. She understand Polish, at least better than she understood English - that language was being spoken by a man with a distinctly Welsh accent to her left.. at least she assumed it was a man.

A bright light crossed over both of her eyelids and she found herself finally capable of sight. A dank, muddy colored room with hospital equipment strewn about greeting her, as well as a tall, skinny Elf man in a white coat and a rather svelte Dwarf woman in green scrubs that held her down. She was strapped down at this point, hooked up to as much equipment as the room could carry.

The lump in her throat turned out to be a feeding tube. No wonder she couldn’t speak. The panic hit her hard but the Welshman’s tone was reassuring, calming even. He kept eye contact and was speaking too fast for her to understand but.. it seemed good. Nice, almost patronly. She focused on it, trying to disregard the bombardment of audio from the obviously busy hospital.

“Easy now, easy.. try to stay calm, Miss Kaplan. You are safe now. You’re safe now. It’s over,” the nurse said, her voice trailing off into nothingness as all the audio was overcome with a painful ringing in her ears.

_What’s over?_ She wondered. She couldn’t remember a thing - the last memory she had was with-.. a face. She could remember the face. Rough. Oval, almost like a horseshoe without the gap. Troll - tusks, rounded at the tips for some reason. Her head was pounding enough to make a lesser person cry, or so she thought. The now mattered little; she was in hospital and was being taken care of. She had enough money saved away for top-end medical treatment in any country.. even if she wasn’t sure how she ended up with a Polish nurse or an English speaking doctor.

She lived in Berlin - the Free City - a small flat in a market, not far from where she grew up. That face. Something about it-..

_No, no! No sleeping! No drugs! Fucking imbecile, I just woke up!_

The Elven man pressed the stopper forward until the clear liquid in his syringe floated productively into her veins. A sedative. She knew the feeling - could guess the dosage, too. Even if she wanted to curse the fatherly bastard out, it’s not like she could. Too busy with a giant plastic tube down her throat.

Growing up how she did she learned a few things. How to read lips was one of them - the nurse was there, petting her gently and telling her that she’d wake up again soon. That it would all be okay. She was well taken care of.

Mieke Kaplan believed her, at least she believed that the nurse had faith in what she was saying. If she was outside the Free City, the glorious Flux State, then she knew that she was fucked. Because then they’d find her.

And then she’d end up dead.


End file.
